


Relaxant

by catafterdark (ccauchemar)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And then... they were both verses, Casual references to multiplicity, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Explicit Consent, F/F, Implied Widowtracer, Mild Power Play, Multiplicity/Plurality, Praise Kink, Strap-Ons, i refuse to write widow without DID and this DOES also apply to stuff like this, implied ot3, reassurance, widow just looks after her lovers okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 12:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccauchemar/pseuds/catafterdark
Summary: It’s not the first time Emily’s needed to slow down. Widowmaker cups her cheek, hovering over her lover on hands and knees. “I’m here to look after you, chérie,” she whispers. “We’re here because it’s meant to be fun.”





	Relaxant

**Author's Note:**

> happy femslash february have som lemons
> 
> um! this is ccauchemar's smut account - if you're unfamiliar with the way i write widow, [currying favours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003886) is always a good intro. neurodivergency doesnt just go away when it's convenient, but it's not always center stage :3 i am very very very self conscious about my porn so like. please dont be rude i am begging.

“I’m… nervous.”

It’s not the first time Emily’s needed to slow down. Widowmaker cups her cheek, hovering over her lover on hands and knees. She's taken off her shirt, and is only wearing expensive sweatpants. “I’m here to look after you, chérie,” she whispers. “We’re here because it’s meant to be fun.”

Emily leans into the hand. She's also down a shirt, and she's laying there in her favourite green summer shorts. She's unconsciously covering her chest with her arms, and her cheeks are ruddy. “It’s just so, intense, you know? So personal. Anything could go wrong.”

Widowmaker shushes her, just softly, stroking her cheek with her thumb. Emily looks about ready to cry. She leans in to softly kiss her. “You know we love you,” she murmurs.

“I’m just having a bad day, lovely,” Emily says. “I’m just all emotional. Don’t even know why.”

Widowmaker nuzzles Emily’s cheek and neck, listening for a hitch of breath. “That’s okay. Intimacy… can be very difficult.”

“L-Lena’s always been so confident,” Emily says, distracted by her lover’s lips. “I don’t know how you two are okay with this day in day out.”

Widowmaker backs up so she can fix Emily with a smirk. “We have this conversation often, chérie. What is my standard response?”

Emily chuffs guiltily. “You both love me very much and are okay with this because it’s me.”

“Eggs-actly.” Widow drags her tongue up Emily’s throat, delighting in the way she gasps and arches her back without even meaning to. “You are a treasure,” Widowmaker murmurs right into Emily’s ear. “You are my treasure, and you are Amélie’s treasure, and you are Lena’s treasure, and may all your gods help you if you ever forget it.”

“S-Sorry, can’t quite hear you,” Emily lies, a little dizzy, creeping her hands around her lover’s back. “Too distracted by neck kisses.”

“You’re _mine,”_ Widowmaker growls, and bites, gently, the side of Emily’s throat. She cups her jaw, inhaling the smell of her skin as Emily whines, hooking a leg around the back of Widow’s.

“I’m a hopeless bottom,” Emily gasps.

“You are neither of those things,” Widow corrects her. “You are a competent verse. Lena is the hopeless bottom.”

“She is not! SHE’S the competent verse! You’re just a bloody top!”

“Apologies, Lena is the service powerbottom.”

Emily throws up her hands and laughs. “Alright! You win.”

“I do,” Widowmaker says. She grasps Emily’s ass and pulls her closer. “Have I told you have a fantastic, plush ass?”

“M-My ass is plush now?” Emily remarks.

“It's always been plush,” Widow says, pecking her on the lips. “How are you feeling now?” she adds, softly.

“Much better,” Emily replies, looping her arms around Widow’s neck again. “You're so good at helping me relax.”

“I know what you like,” Widow says, with a wink, and a squeeze of that fantastic butt. “Helping you melt out of that little shell of yours is the greatest reward of all.”

Emily blushes right to her ears. “Ooh, love, careful with your words. I'm getting all hot and bothered.”

Widow just grins, and ghosts her fingers over Emily’s stomach, teasing under the hem of her shorts. “May I?” she asks.

Emily nods. “Yes, of course.”

Widow sneaks her fingertips under, pauses, undoes the fly and button, and slides her hand into Emily’s underwear. Emily rocks her hips into the gentle pressure, shuddering as her lover’s fingers slide over her clit.

“There's my good girl,” Widow says with love, falling into a familiar pattern of circles.

“Mmh- Yeah,” Emily says, smiling. She wraps her arms around Widow’s back and kneads the muscle there. “I'm your good girl.”

“You are absolutely my sweet, and wonderful, especially good girl,” Widow lilts, eyes glinting.

“Mmm,” Emily warbles, melting under the sweet words and sweet touches, attention captured by the hand between her legs.

“Shh, shh, relax,” Widow tells her in French, kissing under her ear, feeling the uptick in body temperature as Emily falls into sub space. She curls her fingers into the wetness there, dragging them up through Emily’s folds. “I'm going to take good care of you. Just relax. You're doing so well.”

Emily's no longer quite sure what Widow is saying, but the softness of her voice and warmth of her accent lull her into a stupor. She kisses Widow’s cheek and temple, rocking into that delicious pressure.

Widow murmurs sweet nothings. She’s getting much better at flipping that switch in her lover. Knowing she could make Emily _need_ her is a bit of a power trip, and not one she takes lightly. She presses her lips to Emily’s throat, covering her skin in faint lipstick marks.

“Kiss me,” Emily pleads.

Widow obliges, slipping her tongue into her lover’s mouth, catching her soft whine before it passes her lips. Emily doesn’t kiss as deeply when she’s distracted. Widow caresses the inside of Emily’s mouth with her tongue, and catches the shallow gasps Emily makes as her fingers drag over her clit and back down, threatening to dip inside, and coming back up in a circuit.

Emily mumbles something indiscernible into Widowmaker’s mouth and pulls her closer. Their bodies press together. The sniper’s weight is comforting and reassuring to Emily; she is an anchor in the pleasure, as well as its source.

Minutes later, Emily breaks from the kiss with a gasp. “Take my fucking pants off,” she says.

Swearing means serious. Widowmaker leans back and removes Emily’s pants and underwear with swift, practiced movements. She throws them over her shoulder without looking, and returns her attention to her girlfriend. Emily opens her legs with a grateful moan, and digs her nails into Widow’s back.

Widow hisses. “Be careful with those nails,” she warns.

Emily pauses quite deliberately and then drags her nails slow and hard down Widow’s skin, over the legs of her tattoo.

Widow’s long-held composure breaks and her jaw goes slack as she moans, loud and low, curling her spine like a cat. Emily repeats the motion, dragging further, to the waistband of Widow’s sweatpants.

“I think you should take these off,” Emily giggles through a haze of lust.

“Mm, I am _trying to focus,”_ Widow growls, peeved that Emily had almost turned the tables in two easy movements.

“Maybe I want to see you lose it,” Emily taunts.

Widow licks her lips. “Is that a challenge?” she says quietly.

“It could be,” Emily says, tickling up the back of her lover’s neck. “There's something really pretty about you when you stop thinking.”

“You're in dangerous territory, little minx.”

Emily’s eyes sparkle in the low light. “I'm naked under the best sniper in the world. I know exactly what I'm doing.”

“I _could_ fuck you, you know,” Widow reminds her. “I could get up, lick my fingers” - she holds them up - “clean, get out my strap, and fuck you til you couldn't think. I could do that. It's only a matter of whether or not you behave.”

It’s a question, and Emily knows it. So she grasps Widow’s wrist and wraps her lips around the two offending fingers, sliding her tongue between them, cleaning the wetness herself.

Widow’s higher brain functions come to a screeching halt.

 _I dare you,_ Emily says with her eyes, curling her tongue between those long, dexterous fingers.

With a mouth all over her trigger finger, Widow doesn't have much of a choice. She rolls off her lover and drops her pants to the floor. She hadn't been wearing underpants, and Emily openly stares at her ass as she rummages in a clothes drawer and retrieves her well used prize possession: An expensive leather harness and a custom poured, glow in the dark, sparkly purple dildo.

“You extra bitch,” Emily says with a grin.

Widow secures it all in record time. She's crawled back on top of Emily before she growls, “You're dating the personification of leather and lace, you buffoon.”

“I'm talking about your dick, sweetie,” Emily says.

Widow twists Emily’s nipple to silence her. Emily gasps, but she's still grinning.

“Is Amélie going to come and watch again?” Emily asks.

Widow snorts. “No. I can’t feel her. She fled about ten minutes ago.”

“Aww,” Emily pouts. Amélie had observed them both before, with permission. Emily privately hoped she’d join in one day, because she was curious about how her girlfriends - _plural_ \- would coordinate it. “Extend an invitation for me, would you?”

“Mhmm,” Widow says, and pings her subconscious. “But for now, I’d like to remind you to stop being a little shit.” She rocks her hips so the back of the toy slides up against Emily’s sensitive lips.

Emily makes a high pitched noise. “Careful!” she squeaks.

“Payback,” Widowmaker says, and winks.

“Hurry up and fuck me, I'm getting impatient.”

Widow tsks and rubs slower. “Is that any way to speak to me?”

“Y-yes,” Emily says in defiance. Her voice is strong despite the warble.

Widow continues to rock back and forth. It's all about the game of control. “Be a good girl for me and relax,” she purrs.

The praise hits Emily like a thunderbolt and she shudders, going all but limp on the bed.

“Good girl,” Widow coos. She pins Emily’s wrist next to her head. “What's the safeword?” she asks. Emily looks like she's spacing out, and Widow needs to _know_ she knows.

“Peaches,” Emily says, hazy but correct. Her breathing has a harsh edge to it. She rolls her hips and smiles at her lover.

Good. By the look in her eyes, it’s just arousal. Widow guides the toy with her free hand and presses the head of the cock to Emily’s entrance. She pushes in until only the head is inside, and moves with the poor redhead when she whines and bucks her hips to get more friction. “Ah ah,” Widow says. “Good girls are patient.”

“You tease,” Emily whimpers.

“You were being terribly naughty,” Widow drawls, keeping the pressure on just enough to make her squirm. “Putting your pretty nails on my back. Were you trying to gain the upper hand? You _know_ that doesn't work.”

Emily's fighting to keep her eyes open so she can see. “Do I?”

“You should,” Widow purrs. “Maybe you need a reminder…”

A deep, ragged gasp tears itself from Emily’s throat as her girlfriend pushes her cock inside her, and it turns into a long, drawn-out moan when Emily tilts her hips _just right_ and it feels like electricity racing up her spine.

Widow’s never one to deny her lover, especially when she asks so nicely. She cants her hips back and pushes in, again and again, building a slow and steady rhythm she knows will hit the perfect spots. Emily’s breathing is ragged now, and her loud moaning spurs Widow on. It's not long before they're both sweating, Widow relentless, Emily curled up against her lover and completely incoherent.

“I,” Emily groans, _“Widooow.”_

“Are you getting close?” Widow pants.

Emily arches her back. Her eyes are glazed over. “Mmmnnnh.”

“Come for me then, chérie,” Widow says, adjusting just enough so she can rub Emily’s clit with her thumb as she fucks her; the second she does, the poor girl yelps and clings harder. “Come for me, Emily…”

Emily manages to kiss below Widow’s ear before her orgasm hits her. Her sharp cries of pleasure are muffled in the sniper’s neck.

Widow keeps moving as Emily ruts against her, thrusting slower as she comes down from the high. She licks her lips and tastes sweat.

Underneath her, Emily may as well be a pile of goop. She groans in deep contentment and lightly scratches the back of Widow’s neck.

“How do you feel?” Widow asks softly.

Emily laughs and kisses her. “I feel fantastic, pet. But I also want to return the favour.”

Widow doesn't have time to comment before Emily’s nails are on her skin, scratching down her back like she did earlier. She buries her face in Emily’s shoulder and bites back a groan.

“Mm, I knew you had a weakness,” Emily giggles, lazily scratching patterns on her sensitive skin.

Widow mumbles wordlessly.

“Shh, sweetie… What's the safeword?” Emily asks. She knows Widow can… space out. Sometimes, if they’ve talked about it first, it's kinda hot. Always, she wants - and needs - to be careful.

“I know it's peaches,” Widow mumbles, and shoots Emily her best cross glare - as best she can when all she wants to do is melt into putty.

“I needed to be sure, grumpy pants. You need it more than I do,” Emily says. She helps remove the toy and roll Widow onto her back. Now with their positions reversed, Emily smiles, stroking Widow’s cheek with her thumb.

“You’re beautiful,” Widow murmurs.

Emily laughs. “Let me take care of you now,” she says, and leans down to kiss her lover.


End file.
